


Afflati

by naivesilver



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8925598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naivesilver/pseuds/naivesilver
Summary: Sigrid waited until she heard the bed creak under the weight of the stranger before she opened her eyes, just enough so that she could see the two now very close figures. It would have been a surprising sight for anyone, but not for her. Oh, no, this could not surprise her anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yeoman014](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeoman014/gifts).



> This is my gift for yeoman014 for this year's Barduil Secret Santa.  
> I hope you like it!

When she heard the door creaking, Sigrid closed her eyes, pretending that she was sleeping.  
She knew the probability of fooling the person who was coming in was low, but it was either faking sleep or leaving the room for her, and she was becoming too old to run around at the snap of the fingers of a king. Besides, she didn’t want to leave the man lying on the bed next to her armchair. It was too close to the end for her to be leaving now.  
So she kept her eyes closed and listened intently to the soft steps that hit the wooden floor, waiting for them to stop. They did stop eventually, and after that the only sound that could be heard was the mixture of breathings: her own, that she was forcing to make deeper so that she could look asleep, the newcomer’s light one, and her father’s, ragged and uneven, coming from the bed.

Sigrid waited until she heard the bed creak under the weight of the stranger before she opened her eyes, just enough so that she could see the two now very close figures. It would have been a surprising sight for anyone, but not for her. Oh, no, this could not surprise her anymore.  
King Thranduil was sitting on the edge of the bed, barely messing the blankets with his slender frame. He was leaning slightly towards the man covered by those very same blankets, his face as closed and unreadable as always, barely showing any hint of feeling. To an untrained eye, at least. Sigrid had seen the way that face displayed emotions many times (and her father had witnessed many more) and she could read some of its signals, if not all of them.  
The elf raised a hand and touched Bard’s frail one where it laid abandoned on the beddings. It was so tender a touch that Sigrid wondered if her father could feel it at all. It must have been so, though, because the man’s eyelids fluttered open and Bard looked up at the other with faded eyes.  
\- You’ve come - he croaked, new wrinkles adding to the many on his face when he smiled.  
\- How could I not? - Thranduil’s hand tightened around the man’s one, just slightly, stopping before he could hurt him. - It’s been my pleasure for years, to wake you up when you’re neglecting your duties.  
Bard’s smile grew a little wider. - My mother always told me you elves were pestering fellows. - His voice fell on the last word, and his breathing got heavier. He had talked too much.  
The elvenking furrowed his brow. - Meleth - he whispered. - Meleth, how long from now?  
\- Not much - all but breathed Bard - and you know it.  
\- Why didn’t you send for me?  
\- Because I knew you’d come anyway. King Dain often says that you can’t get rid of elves.  
Thranduil scoffed, muttering something that sounded very much like “dwarves”.  
Sigrid was still watching, not daring to move a muscle in the eventuality that they caught her awake. She knew it was a stupid act, faking sleep like a child under the eyes of her father, but she needed it. This was a private moment, but she didn’t want to leave her father’s side, even if she was sure he would be in good company.  
Because Thranduil WAS good company: she had known this for years. She had seen it in her Da’s eyes those first times they had talked, two kings, one freshly crowned and the other with millenia of years weighing on his shoulders. They had talked to each other, before and during and after riding into battle together, and every time they had sounded like two old friends, two equals. In those first meetings they had showed what the following forty years or so would look like, but they didn’t know yet.  
And in those years they had fought side by side, times and times again. New enemies or usual orc raids, if one king appeared on the battlefield, the one would probably follow shortly after. Hundreds of fights who had been hard for both them, even thought only Bard’s calloused and scarred hands showed it, while the other’s seemed as thin and perfect as they had been back then, when Sigrid had been just the daughter of a bowman, not a princess, and the dragon was still sleeping.  
So many years had passed that they barely needed to talk to communicate anymore, choosing to let an heavy silence fall between them instead.  
Unexpectedly, Bard’s free hand raised and gave a little tweak to the nearest pale lock of Thranduil’s hair. The elf raised an eyebrow, questioning.  
\- Stop thinking - Bard whispered.  
The King of Mirkwood gave him a little, cynical smile. - I told you that I will never follow the orders of a man. Especially if it’s an old and decrepit man.  
\- Watch your language, young man, and respect your elders. Look at you, your face has less wrinkles than my son’s.  
They both laughed softly, a sound that didn’t last long, since Bard soon started coughing. Thranduil looked around, and Sigrid had barely the time to close her eyes before it was too late. She heard the glass of water being moved from the table next to the bed and her father’s struggling gulps of water. She didn’t try to watch again until he heard Thranduil talking again.  
\- Where is he, by the way?  
\- Dealing with men from the south. He and Tilda want to be here at all times, but they’re needed more elsewhere. Bain has his duties and family, and Tilda has her children. Only Sigrid I can’t get rid of.  
\- She’s always been stubborn.  
The woman tried not to frown at the comment, but Bard was already talking again. - The kids want to see you again, by the way. You’re fascinating. The little one still thinks you’re a fairy.  
Sigrid bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing while Thranduil didn’t restrain himself and chuckled softly, his features transformed by the sudden burst of emotions. There was no way he could not laugh: he knew Bard’s grandchildren and how their ideas could go a long way, and so did Sigrid.

The little ones (two daughters for Tilda, two boys and a girl for Bain: their family had grown a lot in the last years, and only Sigrid had decided to avoid becoming a mother) were not as surprised to see a great king of the elves talk with their grandfather in such a intimate way as their parents had been when the same had happened to their parents, but they had been born into it. They had not, as Bain and Tilda and Sigrid had, started to know Thranduil in the aftermath of their very first battle, when everything from their city to their status had changed and every new difference from their former life left them wary and uncertain.

They had learned quickly that he and Bard had become frieds, but they had kept an eye on him anyway, aware of any attempt to get closer to them. They had just learned how truly violent the world could be: they wanted to see what could hide under a seemingly kind face. As kind as Thranduil’s could be anyway: his expressions didn’t vary much from each other, and his feelings were showed by a different glint in his eyes or the slight raise of an eyebrow. But they had learned how to read all of it, after enough time, and so had Bard.

\- Bard... – the elf started, his usually composed voice just a little bit cracked, but old king of Esgaroth raised his hand again.

\- Hush. We knew this time would have come. We knew it from the beginning.

\- You should have called me earlier. I could have done something. – A pause. – At the very least I could have shaved that beard off your face. Do you really want to die with that thing under your nose?

The man barked an half-laugh. – All this time, and you still don’t know how to joke. – He took a deep breath. -  Besides, my face is exactly how I want it to be for the eternity.

Thranduil brought his hand to his own mouth and kissed it softly. – Sigrid might be stubborn, but you are worse.

Sigrid felt tears prickle in the corners of her eyes. She felt, as a child would feel, the insane need to be touched by those hands, to be comforted by them, to be told that everything would go well and what was about to happen would never happen. But she knew that there wasn’t much time left, and if she had raised now, more time would be lost in greetings and useless words. They didn’t have hours to spare for that: Sigrid, the eldest child, the more devoted to her father and to his city, had spent enough time by his side to know that he was getting tired, too tired to go on.

Bard himself probably felt it too, for tried to sit up - and failed, but Thranduil leaned a bit more towards him, his brow furrowed and his face concerned. The old man made a crooked little smile and murmured: - It’s said everywhere that men and elves go to the same place. So don’t you dare be sad: we’ll see each other again. Don’t hurry: take care of your kingdom and of my children, and I will wait for you.

Someone should have started crying at that point: not Thranduil, with his stone cold face, but maybe Sigrid, whose heart was breaking inside in her chest, shattering in a thousand pieces. No one cried: there was silence again, a deafening silence where their three breaths resounded heavily, one more shaky than the others.

Then Thranduil got even closer, and with his mouth nearly touching Bard’s ear he started whispering something that Sigrid couldn’t hear, but surely couldn’t contain all those years they had spent together, the first time they had met, how they had fought together , bargained together, bickered, glared at each other, all those moments Sigrid had seen and the one she hadn’t managed to witness because they were too private: their first kiss and the one she had seen them share in a kitchen coming home too early; that day Legolas had briefly returned home to find them together and that visit to Dale where Thranduil had bowed in mock-seriousness to Tilda, calling her “your majesty ” and giving her his crown to try on; the way he had stood by Bain’s side while Bard was gone on a formal visit and some people wouldn’t respect his son’s autority; that time he, a king older than the oldest of her ancestors, had found Sigrid practicing in a training ring even when no other girl would do such thing and, instead of making fun of her, he had corrected her hold on the sword and listened to what she wanted to see, and later, much later, he had been on her side when she had told her father that she would never become the pretty princess who did nothing but produce heirs that some nobles wanted her to be, choosing to devote herself to the city instead.

Those few moments of low whispering couldn’t possibly describe all of that. Or maybe they could. Who knew. After all, they had really had so much time to learn how to communicate with each other.

When Thranduil finally raised his head (stopping just to kiss briefly Bard’s dry lips), he gave the man on the bed a long, long stare, moving his hand to caress his white hair, his closed eyes, his spotted skin. Then he stood, slowly, and walked away from the bed without turning his eyes.

Sigrid realised too late that she had not been pretending to sleep for a bit (not that she could care now), but the elvenking was already there, placing a kiss on her hair. It was a sweet kiss, one a father could give a daughter, and had anyone else been in the room they would have been mesmerised at the sight, since his features were so young that _he_ could pass for her son. Then he was off, leaving her in a confused start, the room resonating with silence. This time, though, she could not hear three people breathing.

She could feel just her own breath.

**Author's Note:**

> (This work has not been beta'd yet, and english is not my mother language, so if you notice any mistakes, let me know!)


End file.
